


One Little Prick

by distantstarlight



Series: Helpless [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Best Friends, First Time, Gay Sex, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, John is in DANGER, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Not rape! but still dubious, POV Sherlock Holmes, Please Don't Hate Me, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Sherlock is a really good friend, Unintentional exposure to serum, consent given, hints of John's past, probably should add more tags but I can't decide which, read with care if this topic triggers you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8324293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were on a case, of course they were, cases were their life, cases meant everything to both of them. In fact, cases were the most important things in the world to Sherlock and John, except of course, each other. When John gets plunged into an unfortunate situation, Sherlock steps up to help him out, even though it means doing something he'd never done before.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have a whole bunch of reasons for writing these stories, and while I feel that I should apologize for some reason I'm not going to (I'm sorry). Okay, that slipped out, I can't help that. I feel odd about wanting to write about something so sensitive but like so many of my other stories, I'm incapable of not chasing an idea once it has caught me.
> 
> Huge thanks to MyFirstIsTheFourth and themindisacity for their massive beta efforts on my behalf. I kept all the fixes you suggested, and I super appreciate all the time you invested in patiently rooting out the many, many, many errors you came across. *finger hugs*

John and Sherlock watched in horror as the elevator doors slid shut, trapping them inside a private underground laboratory. The doctor fell to his knees, staring at his thigh, and Sherlock felt like vomiting on the spot. “John…did he?”  _ He wasn’t positive, he hadn’t seen the end of the fight, this ice-cold fear could be for naught _ . The facts did nothing to mitigate the sinking feeling he had about the forthcoming answer. Against all rational impulses, Sherlock Holmes, atheist, found he was praying to unnamed deities that he was  _ for once _ entirely mistaken in his observation.

John nodded, and Sherlock exhaled raggedly in dismay.  _ Hope was the most painful loss _ . John’s voice was rough as he answered, and Sherlock knew the doctor understood the facts just as well as he did. “Yeah, just before he died. The syringe is right there.” They were now staring at the empty vessel on the floor. It seemed so harmless but that small container had just changed both their worlds irrevocably. “He did it to make me let go of his other arm.” Now John sounded perfectly fine, as if he were commenting on the weather. He was in shock and overcompensating, as usual.

“I guess it worked.” Sherlock knew his own voice was hollow with fear.  He was under no illusion that he was in any way under firm control. John was in danger and it made Sherlock’s mind go topsy-turvy with terror.  _ They’d tracked the chemist through a series of gruesome murders, each victim dying from an unidentifiable compound that reacted very specifically each time, each individual sealed into rooms with timers on the lock, much like they were now. If John had been even a pace behind Sherlock as they’d tumbled out of the elevator, the sliding doors would have separated them neatly. Instead they were locked in together, and they both had a very clear idea what would happen to John.  _ There was no help to be had. _ Even if help was available, their mobiles didn’t get service inside the shielded building. The staircases were inaccessable from this location. The elevator doors required heavy equipment they didn’t have in order to be prised open. They couldn’t even break through the walls, since everything was made from cement blocks and steel panels. The only way into this level was through the elevator that had departed, towing its resident corpse to the main floor. It would be twelve hours before the timed lock disengaged _ . 

“John.” Sherlock didn’t know what to say. The now-dead chemist had injected John with the entire contents of the container.

“Sherlock.” John sounded as helpless as he did but was gamely pressing on. “This is the lab, there are the computers, the side offices. There must be something we can use.” Galvanized at last, Sherlock helped John up, and together they made their way forward. The last few victims had lasted a minimum of an hour before the compound impacted them with severity.  _ It was clear now that all the previous deaths had been field tests. Who knew how many poor souls had perished in the initial trials before Scotland Yard finally noticed something was amiss?  _ All the computers were helpfully on, the compound that John had been injected with was conveniently listed according to a number on the side of the syringe; the onscreen display causing both of them to frown in tandem. Clearly they’d interrupted the scientist mid-project, and had left him no time at all to hide or discard anything. “Fuck.” John sounded completely defeated. Even with all the information at hand, they clearly needed one thing that they did not have…time.

“Indeed.” Sherlock tried to inject some hope in his tone. There  _ was  _ a slim chance he could encounter something useful, after all. They read the notes as quickly as they could. A cure was possible but it would take weeks to synthesize. All samples had been destroyed after verification, specifically so they could not be used in an emergency like this. John had only minutes remaining. Sherlock had never felt so useless in his entire life, he had to think of something but he drew blank after blank, “John…”

“I know Sherlock, I know.” They read the notes a second time, prompting another curse from John. “Fuck.” His face was already flushed and there was a prominent tent in his trousers. Glancing at the wall clock Sherlock was disturbed to see that they had frittered away most of their grace-time.

Sherlock sighed. “We have to make preparations.” There were limited options, and in a best-case scenario, Sherlock would come out more or less alright, certainly sore, but nothing a little bedrest wouldn’t take care of, and John was an excellent caretaker. Worst-case scenario was the one where John savaged him to death before dying himself from the compound that was saturating his body right now.  _ Together, always together _ . He felt queasy, because he’d never really wanted a physical relationship with anyone, but there wasn’t really a choice. It was best to accept the facts and anticipate.

John was startled. “Preparations?” John’s ability to deny the obvious was in full force. Sherlock stepped over to a series of sterile looking drawers, digging around until he extracted what he needed. With a calm that belied his true state, Sherlock removed his Belstaff and unbuttoned the top of his bespoke shirt.

_ So, this was a bit unplanned but it was important to keep calm. Panic would help no one, and nervous tension would only make things worse _ . “Yes John. You read the same thing I did. We don’t have much time, and I really don’t fancy bleeding from my anal cavity due to lack of preventive measures.” Sherlock had used medical grade lubricant countless times in his experiments and observations, not to mention it made masturbating a lot easier, too. The scientist in him understood the practical parts of what was going to happen only too well, and theoretically, he could deal with it,  _ if _ the right measures were taken. It felt a bit awkward undressing in front of John, but Sherlock was certain he’d want his clothing back later on, so he began looking for empty drawers, even rolling up his large coat and finding a place to hide it away.

“Sherlock, no!” John became aware of his own change of physical status, and it clearly startled him. “Fuck it all to hell!” he cursed his tumescence angrily. “ _ No _ . I can deal with this on my own.”

“Like the other victims, John? They bloody well killed themselves  _ trying to deal with it on their own _ !” Continuing with his efforts, Sherlock undid his belt, toed off his shoes, and set his rolled up socks inside one. Not looking at John, Sherlock undid the rest of his shirt, and hung it neatly on the back of a chair.  _ He needed to cleanse and stretch himself _ . “I’ll…I’ll deal with this part, if it makes it easier for you.” He excused himself to the loo, taking along an enema kit he found in what was apparently a supply cabinet. It felt very strange indeed, and more than a little embarrassing. He was glad John hadn’t followed him in. After he washed up, he made a decision. There was a large amount of intimacy about to happen, familiarizing themselves with each other a bit would probably help things along. He went back to the common area and found a sturdy cabinet the appropriate height to lean over. Tugging his pants down just far enough, Sherlock squeezed out a generous amount of lube and reached for his own arse. John’s face turned bright red as he finally acknowledged exactly what Sherlock was going to do. Red of face as well, Sherlock began to finger himself, jumping a little at the weird slick feeling of the gel.

“No! Lock me in another room! I can’t do this to you! You’re my best friend! You’re not like this! You shouldn’t have to…” John was beginning to panic as he tried to respond to the conflicting signals between his mind and his body. The drug in his system was causing him to experience growing sexual desire, a building need that previous victims failed to sate adequately. It would begin slowly, growing more intense until the cycle peaked, subsiding abruptly as the victim died from the strain.  _ Slow _ was a comparative term, John would be immediately and aggressively drawn toward sexual acts. In complete reverse of what his body wanted, John’s mind was searching for a loophole, trying to find some way to  _ protect _ Sherlock. John was always so nurturing, so caring. He’d spent years patching Sherlock up after one mishap or another, leaping into battle without thought if it seemed that his best friend was being threatened in any kind of way that John could put a stop to. The fact that part of John’s basic instinct was  _ that _ very urge, allowed Sherlock to accept what needed to be done with greater ease. For once,  _ he _ would be doing the saving, not John.

“JOHN WATSON!” snapped Sherlock, shocking John out of the beginning of his melt-down. “John,” he continued in a softer voice, “I know this is not ideal, but all the victims died of sexual frustration…rather horribly if you recall. They wanked themselves  _ literally _ raw! One of them managed to pull his own penis off, and since I believe that is  _ not _ a scenario you feel like exploring, I can’t help but point out yet again  _ that we can keep that from happening _ . All the evidence suggests that the compound lasts for a quarter of a day. Six hours, John! You need to be in a state of near continuous sexual gratification for the duration! We need to cause your brain to release norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin, vasopressin, nitric oxide, and prolactin in great quantities! In other words, orgasms, lots of them. We don’t have time to dawdle, the compound is already working on you.” John looked down and cursed again. A large damp patch on the front of his trousers clearly signified where the end of John’s penis was, thick and wide, tucked against the crease of his hip but still very visible. John was frighteningly huge  _ below _ . “Impressive, John.”

Sherlock knew the soldier couldn’t help his erection, the chemicals in his bloodstream were doing their job impersonally, forcing his brain to trigger the most basic of urges in the strongest possible manner. “Sherlock,” the doctor moaned miserably, “this is so wrong.” John couldn’t stop staring at Sherlock’s body, his face filled with a strained sort of hunger as he slowly lost the battle to resist.

“We don’t currently have a choice, and if it makes you feel better, I’m glad it’s me.” Sherlock spoke quietly but clearly, still not looking at his best friend. “You know I’d do anything for you.” John was going to react badly even if they both survived this relatively unscathed. He was the king of self-flagellation. Sherlock knew that John would feel horrible for doing this to him, but he also knew John would be driven to the depths of despair of he hurt some innocent stranger in the same way. When the serum in his blood fully engaged,  _ sex _ would be the paramount concern on John’s personal agenda, and  _ anyone at all _ would be a candidate for him to engage with. There wasn’t anyone else to choose from, and therefore no point wasting time fretting about the inevitable.

“ _ This _ , Sherlock? You’d do  _ this _ ? You don’t even…” John sounded deeply conflicted. The compounds in his system were taking over and the doctor groaned suddenly. “Fuck…you’re beautiful.” John was staring at all the flesh now bared for his viewing pleasure, his gaze hot and hungry. It was strange to witness this sort of appreciation on John’s face. Sherlock had seen John make similar faces after encountering one of the many women he’d chased after in the past, and it made him flush for some reason.  _ John Watson found him physically attractive, at least for the moment _ . Sherlock was both pleased that his friend found him comely, and a bit out of his depth because no one had ever looked at him with such hunger before.

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock looked at his best friend, his brows crinkling in the middle. With a fairly steady voice he managed to catch John’s eye. Holding up his mobile to show he was recording himself, he spoke clearly. “Things are going to go foggy for you very soon, so listen carefully _. I give you permission, John _ . Whatever you need to do to survive this, you will do it. Don’t try to spare me. I am Sherlock Holmes, of sound mind, and currently sound body, giving full permission to Doctor John Hamish Watson, to engage in any physical act he is required to in order to survive the serum he was unwillingly injected with.” Ending the recording with a sharp tap of his finger, Sherlock set his mobile into a nearby drawer safely out of the way.

“Sherlock…I’m…going…to…have…to...r…” John couldn’t get the word out.

Sherlock wasn’t listening anyway, not to this. “ _ Rape me? _ Nonsense, John. I’m not the incapacitated one and I’ve given you my consent. It’s not rape, though I admit, it might be a tad uncomfortable, but that is not a choice either of us get to weigh in on. I’ve never done  _ it _ before, and I know this isn’t the most ideal setting for a first experience, but there we are. It changes nothing. This is going to happen no matter how you or I might wish things to be different. It’s fine, John.”

John gaped at him as Sherlock tried to keep calm, “It’s  _ not _ fine, Sherlock. You just told me you’re a virgin.”

“What of it?  _ You’ve _ been injected with a compound that will force your sex drive to hyper-activate. You didn’t ask for that, and if not for following me on this case, you would never have been exposed to it. The facts remain unalterable. You  _ will _ lose control of your higher functions. You  _ will _ hurt yourself unless you find  _ someone _ to copulate with, just as all the previous victims. I cannot allow that to happen. Since I cannot negate the serum itself due to the extensive lab-work required, and find myself conveniently locked in here with you, I will do what I can. I will voluntarily provide sexual gratification to you for as long as you need it. Do you suppose I would rather stand back  _ protecting my chastity _ while your genitals rupture moments before your heart implodes?”

John was clearly still struggling to reconcile himself to the inevitable. “I’m not gay.” He looked embarrassed as he made the declaration weakly. Sherlock’s heart warmed a little as he realized John was doing his best to resist because he cared so much. Not a single person who had ever met John ever thought he was straight, no matter the consistency of his denials. Perhaps that’s why he overcompensated for his bisexuality with an excess of women during his single life.  _ Three Continents Watson, indeed _ .

“Do you suppose it matters?” Sherlock had never given his own sexual needs much thought. People were irritating, men and women both, he could barely tolerate having to speak with most of them for more than a few minutes. Exposing himself to prolonged social environments just to initiate coitus merely for orgasm, something which his hand was more than capable of producing, seemed like a lot of effort for nothing. He hadn’t bothered to even try. At any rate, this wasn’t about orgasms, at least, not for Sherlock. Only  _ John’s _ release mattered. The doctor needed everything his brain would naturally produce to counteract the negative aspects of the serum.  _ That _ was the key issue. If John could remain sexually satisfied for the duration of the serum’s efficacy, he could survive. Sherlock was hardly going to let his best friend  _ die _ simply because he’d never wanted to be sodomized before. From what Sherlock could deduce from the previous cases, self-gratification wasn’t enough. There needed to be  _ more _ for some reason. He didn’t have time to figure it out further. This was untested hypothesis but he was fairly certain that having a partner would significantly alter how the subject responded to the serum’s directives.

“ _ I  _ want to finger you then,” said John, his cheeks brilliant red with embarrassment, but the rest of his face set with determination as he made his demand. “If I have to fuck you for hours on end, then I want to know you’ve been prepared as much as possible. I’ve had anal sex before; you haven’t. I’ll get you ready, and that way, at least I’ll know we did as much as possible to make this okay for you.” His cheeks were flushing with arousal, and his eyes were growing heavy lidded. Reluctant or not, John was being turned on. It made Sherlock feel strange.

_ Where would John have had anal sex? _ Sherlock couldn’t imagine any of the unexciting and unadventurous women John dated would agree to such a request. “The army.” John nodded, his face going redder than ever as Sherlock deduced his past. “Limited sexual options, high stress situations. You shagged a lot of soldiers, and have been shagged by them. You’re a switch.” Sherlock felt an odd conflicting moment as he imagined John with a random lineup of hard-bodied soldiers, dirty and sweaty, bloody even, fucking furiously to celebrate surviving another day. It made his cock twitch in a startling manner.

“I never in a million years ever thought we’d be having a sex talk.” John covered his face with both hands, ignoring the fact that his erection was weeping now, the dampness on his trousers beginning to grow faster. “Not gay, not exactly straight either. Fine, I admit it.  _ Yes _ , I’ve fucked men or been fucked by men… a lot. I want to fuck right now, I will be fucking for the rest of the day; however, before I turn into a complete ravening cock monster, I want to make sure you are dripping with lube as deep as I can get it because there is no such thing as too much, not today.”

Sherlock found himself propped up on his elbows against the same cabinet as John applied the lubricant. The doctor was impersonal about it for roughly four seconds. Soon enough though, John was playing, teasing Sherlock, and skillfully gaining entrance. The amount of lubricant he pushed inside was ludicrous, and made Sherlock feel odd, almost as if he needed to void his bowels, but different. John was quick now, working one finger after another inside, not languorously, but all business, stretching Sherlock like it was his purpose in life. Sherlock was fully aware of the moment when John’s higher sensibilities departed entirely. His fingers, which had been pumping carefully in and out of him, now became more aggressive, rudely squelching in and out as John began to huff and softly growl. “It’s okay John. Put your penis inside me. It will be best that way.”

“You have to be the unsexiest yet sweetest man on the entire planet. No one in the world would ever believe you’d do this for me of your own accord.” John was clearly struggling to maintain his mastery over verbal language as he stripped down. “You really are my best friend, Sherlock.”

“I know, John, clearly you are  _ my _ best friend too,  _ obvious _ , considering I’m about to let you give me a good seeing to.” John agreed in a way that Sherlock should have expected. With a guttural grunt, John stepped up behind Sherlock, rubbed the head of his cock against Sherlock’s behind, and pushed in without a word of warning. It was shockingly unpleasant. “John! You feel bigger than looks suggest!  _ Are you putting your hand in as well? _ ” The stretch was awful and it was going way too fast. John’s cock was demanding a lot more give than his fingers had required. There was no gentle slide, it felt like the texture of John’s cock-head was dragging at Sherlock’s flesh, causing it to pull and nearly tear. The push inward was making Sherlock feel more than a little uncomfortable too, but John’s only accommodation was not shoving his phallus to the root right away like he clearly wanted to do. Sherlock tried to hold back but tiny grunts and gasps of agony escaped him. The pain was sharp as well as deep, flashing through his nervous system with all the subtlety of a lightning storm.

Sherlock really had not been prepared for how intimate this really was.  _ He was with John sexually _ . _ They were now lovers, or sex-partners at least, and being partners with John wasn’t a bad thing _ . That fact didn’t take anything away from the knowledge that he was being skewered to the core. Sherlock found he was gasping shallowly; he’d pass out if he didn’t control himself a bit.  _ This was far worse than being shot, and he was pretty sure even the time he’d been burned with a red-hot poker hadn’t hurt this much. That had at least ended quickly with the deadening of the nerves. This was ongoing _ . He felt a strange snapping sensation from his anus, like an elastic had been stretched nearly to its limit, and he understood that John was now entirely inside him. His virginity was most certainly gone, and while he didn’t possess a hymen to tear, he was also just as certain that his blood was spilling. It was then that he realized he was keening out a high pitched whine of pain, and that hot tears were rolling down his cheeks. It was humiliating to be crying like a hurt child, but he couldn’t make himself hold back.

“Sh’lock. Sorry, so sorry, can’t stop. Can’t.” John was mumbling and groaning at the same time, “I  _ need _ to fuck you. Tried to wait but I need to be  _ in _ you. You feel so good Sherlock.” John’s hips were rocking with increasing aggressiveness. Sherlock tried to stop the tears.  _ It hurt so damn much!  _ He covered his mouth with his hand and muffled the sobs. He tried to separate himself from the experience, to compartmentalize the pain.  _ John wasn’t going to stop; he was unable to control the needs the serum was forcing him to satisfy. The chemical cocktail in his blood was making irresistible demands, the doctor wasn’t to blame. John wasn’t choosing to do this. John needed sex, and agonizing as it was, he was the only person around who could give it to him. Detach, dammit. Focus. Remove yourself from the experience. Calm. Calm _ . Each inward thrust was worse than the last, and he couldn’t focus. He was anything but calm, his breaths coming in agonized hitches in between his choked cries. Sherlock tried once more to distance himself emotionally from it all but it was impossible. John was too integral to him, there was no way for him to block the experience.  _ Tears were irrational, he’d accepted his role, so why was he crying? The pain wasn’t pleasant and he’d endured higher levels of physical anguish, and had not been brought to tears _ . Sherlock had no answers, nor was he able to stop.

Without planning it, Sherlock jerked away. Waiting until John had pulled back until he was nearly out anyway, Sherlock twisted away sharply to the left, John’s weakest side, and managed to separate their bodies, “John, I need you to stop!” he shouted.  _ He needed just a minute, only a minute _ . John didn’t give him that. Without hesitation John grabbed Sherlock and forced him to lay face down on the floor. Sherlock was given no time to brace himself before John lined himself up, and bucked hard, this time doing exactly what he’d struggled not to do the first time; John shoved his cock right to the base, burying himself deep inside Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock went rigid with pain, and found John’s elbow planted in his back, a precision move that was both strong and painful enough to keep Sherlock immobilized. “Okay, okay, okay.” He chanted though he wasn’t sure John could even hear him any longer. Fighting clearly made it worse, so Sherlock gave in. The pain faded somewhat but it was increasingly uncomfortable. It also took forever. John worked his shaft painfully in and out of Sherlock’s bottom, growling and grunting ecstatically while Sherlock cried as quietly as he could, grateful that he couldn’t see John right now. He was fairly certain he wasn’t bleeding too much, and that their preparations had been sufficient, if barely, but in no way was he  _ enjoying _ the process.

John had degenerated into an animal state, a primal beast who was bent only on delivering his seed, grunting crudely as he rutted mindlessly. It was distressing when John lay along his back, wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and  _ humped _ , his breath rattling in his throat as he clawed at Sherlock’s torso to keep his position and to keep exerting his dominance. They were as physically close as they had ever been but it felt like they were in different universes. The distance Sherlock felt from John was devastating, that in and of itself was almost more painful than the actual sex. John was completely caught up in chasing his pleasure. His small hands had Sherlock’s hips in a vice grip. Bruises were a certainty, and who knew what other stresses would be put on his transport? Sherlock’s entire backside ached, and he cried even harder because he understood that even  _ after _ John came, there would be several more incidents that he would have to endure. Despite the fact that he had clearly given John the go-ahead, Sherlock felt violated and sick. If the scientist who had created this concoction wasn’t already dead, Sherlock would have found a way to kill him. _ John wasn’t really present, and this stranger on him right now was making him feel dirty _ .

“Sherlock! Oh fuck! You beautiful man! Fantastic. You feel so fucking fantastic!” John’s ecstatic cries grated on Sherlock’s ears. “This is it. You did it. You’re letting me. Sherlock! Fuck!” With his final curse and a shout of triumph, John ejaculated. Sherlock wiped the tears from his face, and winced each time John snapped his hips, trying not to flinch as he felt the wet pulsing deep inside him. He was officially a virgin no longer. He’d been fucked hard, and now had another person’s DNA both in him and on him. His lower lip trembled but he sucked in a handful of deep breaths as John extracted himself. He couldn’t help jerking when John unexpectedly wiped Sherlock’s arse with a tissue. It felt too rough against his newly abused flesh.

“I’ll fellate you next round.” Sherlock rasped, using all his training and skill to pull himself together, evening his voice out as much as possible, whilst packing the memory of this trauma firmly away in a basement portion of his mind palace.  _ John did not willingly do this. If he’d been able to contain his urges, John would never have hurt him like this. _ Sherlock reminded himself of why he was allowing it, and re-reminded himself that it was  _ just transport _ . It didn’t help much.  _ His bottom was so sore already! He couldn’t take another ride like that, not right away, or possibly ever _ . Sherlock reached for some tissues himself, mopping up his copious tears before blowing his nose. The entire region around his anus was burning, and felt puffy as well as over-sensitive. He’d try everything he could think of to keep John out of his arse for as long as possible.

“I’m gonna wash my cock then. There’s a sink in there.” Sherlock wrinkled his nose at John’s language. His friend wasn’t normally crude unless he was intoxicated. He did drop the f-bomb a great deal but conversationally John was not given to speaking of anything intimate. There were facilities for men and women, and John disappeared into the men’s room. “Best orgasm I’ve ever had.” The smaller reported with a satisfied sigh, calling out through the open door. The doctor didn’t seem to even notice that Sherlock was red-eyed and damp-lashed.

He needed a minute to collect himself so, to avoid John for a few minutes longer, he used the ladies room. Sherlock needed the loo urgently after what had just occurred, and using it hurt. Feeling John’s essence leak out of him wasn’t a pleasant sensation at all, it felt rude and vaguely shameful. Gratefully he used the bidet that was available, cleaning his tender opening with care. When he was dried off, Sherlock lavishly reapplied lube, his hands still shaking from shock. He was seventy percent certain that fellatio wouldn’t be enough.  _ He’d have to let John bugger him again, but maybe he’d be able to hold him off long enough for some of the stinging to subside? _ The lube was helping sooth the tingle, he just needed a little bit of time to process it all before it happened again.  _ Best to be prepared at any rate _ . When he came out of the lavatory, John was standing there stroking himself, “Hurry Sherlock, need it now.”

John’s cock was stiff again, red with blood, and Sherlock swallowed hard with dismay. “That didn’t take long.”  _ There was no refractory period to speak of! _ John had a relatively high sex drive for a man his age, but he rarely went more than one round of an evening. His dates tended to be very satisfied because John was, according to all aural evidence, a master between the sheets, getting his temporary partners off numerous times before allowing himself release. It seemed to be a kink of his. It had only been a quarter of an hour since John had ejaculated, and Sherlock wanted to burst into tears all over again but he forced himself to keep his face as impassive as possible.  _ His anus hurt so much! _

John noticed immediately anyway, “I’m so sorry Sherlock, you can’t feel very good right now. Tell you what, let’s get you as comfortable as possible at least. There’s a small sofa over here, and a bit of carpet, that’s got to be better than what we used before.” John was contrite and uncomfortably aroused. “We have to hurry though; I can’t wait much longer. I need this.”

Sherlock swallowed hard and nodded.  _ He could do this, for John. It wasn’t John’s fault. If he didn’t want to lose his best friend, he needed to buck up and take John like a man, right up the arse. Yes, he’d be fucked nearly raw by the end of it, but he’d heal. If he didn’t do it, then yes, his behind would be okay but he’d never have John with him ever again _ . Sherlock silently apologized to his tender rear, but saving himself a sore bum wasn’t nearly enough of a reason for him to give up John Watson permanently. “I’ll try to get you off completely, or failing that, as close as possible before you need to penetrate me again.”

“I know it hurts, poor sweetheart, I’m sorry.” John was babbling, seating himself on the small fabric covered sofa, “I need you desperately though. Right now Sherlock, right now.” John was stroking himself, wanking anxiously, his hips thrusting toward Sherlock. “This feels good, but having  _ you _ do something will feel better, I know it.” John’s gaze was wandering downward slowly, his head tilting to the side as he craned his neck to get a better look at the curve of Sherlock’s rear.

You didn’t need to be the world’s only consulting detective to deduce that Sherlock was going to find himself flung to the floor and fucked hard all over again if he didn’t get down to business on the instant. Dropping to his knees, Sherlock licked his lips and mentally braced himself to give the first blow-job he’d ever participated in. He’d consumed porn of course,  _ for scientific purposes _ , and read serious articles about the mechanics of intercourse, so Sherlock felt he could at least do the job satisfactorily. If John managed a bit of coaching, then Sherlock could tailor the experience to bring John to his crisis without needing to bend over for his best friend. “Tell me what you like.”

“Lick it.” Without further ado he ran his tongue experimentally up John’s shaft. He tasted faintly of soap, and a strange mix of salty and sweet with a hint of something that made the back of his throat tingle, and his mouth water.  _ Odd. Was it a mechanical reaction? Did his liminal responses predispose him to anticipate this task? _ Sherlock decided that since he was in the area, he may as well go exploring. He’d seen most of the good doctor in one instance or another, but his penis, bollocks, and arse had always been demurely obscured. Now Sherlock had John’s glans in his mouth, and he was already gagging a bit from the unexpected flavor and textures he encountered.

The foreskin was shockingly delicate against his lips, and the shaft much firmer than he would have imagined. The flavor was a surprise as well. For some reason he hadn’t considered that John would have a particular  _ taste _ to him, but he did. It was a bit unpleasant, but at the same time, that faint hint of  _ John _ that Sherlock so often picked up on the sofa at home, or the kitchen right after they’d had breakfast, or sometimes, when the bathroom was still steamy from John’s after-work shower, that hint was bold and strong in Sherlock’s nose, and not unwelcome.

“Lick it everywhere,” panted John, “Then put the tip in your mouth again and suck a bit.” Sherlock did as he was bid. “Fuck that’s good. Try to get some of the shaft in there too, use your hand to stroke the rest.” Sherlock kept doing as he was told. It was easier to follow directions than it was to try and figure it out as he went along. All logic had told him was that dragging his teeth over his flatmate’s tenderest part would be a  _ bad idea _ . John’s scrotal sac felt different than his penis did, and his pubic hair was a great deal softer than Sherlock expected it to be, and thinner as well. Somehow Sherlock had imagined a great thicket of pubes, but John wasn’t extravagantly hairy between his legs. Sherlock was startled to find the lube shoved into his hand, “Finger my arse, I like it.”

Sherlock held his free hand out and John ambitiously slicked three of them. “One at a time,” he said with a smile. “Don’t worry about being too fast, just use your best judgement.”

Sherlock couldn’t speak, he was still working on John’s penis but he still managed a grimace that hopefully transmitted his understanding. He was filled with relief. John wasn’t as out-of-control as he’d feared, and now it looked like Sherlock’s arse was going to get an extension on its break. John wasn’t shy about pushing down on Sherlock’s middle finger, he took the entire thing as far as it would go in one smooth slide, and  _ he _ couldn’t help saying, “That’s amazing.”  _ John was so soft inside, but tight at the same time. His muscles seemed to clutch at Sherlock’s fingers, sucking him deeper inside _ . Deliberately, John squeezed Sherlock’s digit, and it took some effort to pull back before plunging in again.

“That’s my line,” grunted John. “ _ Another _ , I can take it.” Obligingly, Sherlock set his second slick finger next to the first and let John push down again. His knuckles pressed together almost painfully as John’s body reluctantly let him in. The soldier groaned softly but didn’t stop bearing down until he couldn’t go any further. “Feels fucking fantastic, but it’s not enough.” John was rocking his hips and moaning. “So good Sherlock, your mouth is so good, and your fingers are brilliant, but it’s not enough. Fuck me Sherlock, come on, your cock is probably huge compared to mine, get it out and get it in me.”

Sherlock’s cheeks went scarlet because he knew it wasn’t, and besides... _John wanted to be penetrated by Sherlock?_ _How many different ways could a person lose their virginity?_ Pulling off John’s erection, Sherlock couldn’t help himself, “You want me to bugger you?”

John’s hips swirled sensuously, riding Sherlock’s fingers hungrily, and his eyes glittered with desire as he grinned down, “Yeah Sherlock, you let me do you already, and I want to be the first person you ever get your cock into. I like it a bit rough, used to soldiers right off the field. It used to get a bit crazy, been a long time since someone had me like that. I miss it.”

Sherlock was initially discomfited at the graphicness of John’s admission, and then mortified when his traitorous body responded by causing his penis to plump and then harden completely. “Will you like it?  You need to get off in order to combat the serum.”

“Oh, it’s working, sweetheart. That first round was perfect. I’m feeling loads better already. Keep sucking me, Sherlock, your mouth is so pretty. I’ve wanted to see those lips around my cock for so long now.” John’s eyes were filled with lust, and he didn’t seem to realize he was speaking out loud, nor had he noticed the liberal use of endearments. “Wish it wasn’t like this love, I’ll always regret making your first time so awful. I should have done this first, let you fuck me before I fucked you, it would have been gentler. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Oh god Sherlock, my lovely brilliant Sherlock, that’s it my gorgeous beautiful boy, suck my cock. You look perfect like this, on your knees. Yeah, more Sherlock, give me three now, I’m ready.” He gasped as Sherlock obliged him yet again. “Oh that’s so good, love, such a beautiful lovely lad, so stunning you are, oh Sherlock, want you to fuck me so hard, fill me with your come. I need it, please, I need it.”

John was looking unhealthily feverish now, and Sherlock began to worry. He felt flushed as well, but that could be due to the things that John was saying to him. He’d never been complimented in such a way, and in such an impassioned tone of voice. The serum was clearly winning its deadly battle. It was up to Sherlock to win back lost ground.  _ He had to make John come, and it had to be incredible _ . Sherlock did what he’d never done before. He gave dirty talk a go. “Is  _ this _ what you want John Watson?” He rubbed his cock-head around softened rim of John’s anus, and they both groaned. It felt fantastic. Sherlock found his interest in the proceedings abruptly increase.  _ This might not be so bad. _ “I estimate that my cock is at least two centimeters shorter than yours, but at least two centimeters wider in circumference. I’m going to split you in two, can you take that you little cum-dump?” He’d read the term online and hoped he hadn’t gone too far.

John made a strange woofing sound, and Sherlock watched as the soldier got on his hands and knees, his back arching as he thrust his bottom toward Sherlock. “Give me your best shot, soldier.” John’s voice had gone dark and husky again, filled with challenge and daring. Taking a deep breath, he made himself look at John. His skin was flushed with passion, and his arse…Sherlock had to swallow hard…John’s arse was glistening and soft looking, his wrinkled pucker loose and welcoming. Sherlock made sure he was as slick as possible before pressing forward. His eyes rolled a bit as the head of his cock pushed through the resistant sphincters and into John’s body. It was hot inside, pulsing, and Sherlock moaned as he sank himself as far as he could get, carefully pushing at a steady pace. “I’m not a fucking woodland fairy Sherlock, fuck me proper!” demanded the small man, “I said I wanted a bit of  _ rough _ .” John tried to roll his hips for emphasis.

Perhaps the serum was contagious. Sherlock would wonder about it much later but just then he was too busy ramming his stiffy deep into John’s arse, graceless in his urgency, simply working his hips like a piston. It felt astonishing. From the volume of his moans John seemed to like it. Sherlock allowed his transport to do as it pleased, going fast or slow as it wanted, plowing John hard, or sometimes grinding deep, just for the thrill of it. Soon enough he was laid out on John’s back, grunting just as rudely as John had, bucking his hips rhythmically as he used John to get himself off. It seemed to be doing it for the soldier. John was moaning and rutting backward to meet Sherlock’s thrusts. Letting go of one hip, Sherlock reached forward and grasped John’s cock, wrapping his fingers around John’s hand, which was already present. “You like this, don’t you John. You’ve wanted this, haven’t you, wanted me to lay you down, and fuck you like the filthy little trollop you really are. Why, I could fuck you like this each and every day, and you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you John.”

“Sh…Sherlock. Close. Don’t stop.” John was begging, rocking back to meet Sherlock’s thrusts. “ _ Take _ me, Sherlock, just like this, please.” Sherlock found himself arched over John’s back, covering the smaller man’s body possessively as he fucked with increasing savagery. The harsher he was, the louder John moaned.

Sherlock felt a weird hot surge burst inside him.  _ He felt powerful, in control, and it was amazing. Everything he was doing was making John respond positively, and he felt like a god. _  Pressing his mouth to John’s ear, Sherlock began to speak. “Oh, I’m not stopping John. I’m going to fuck my come deep into your pretty little arse over and over again until you’re sloppy with it.  _ That’s _ what you like, isn’t it John? How many soldiers did you let fuck you in one go? I know you did it, nasty little piece that you are. Oh, I’m sure you rationalized it all away, never admitting to yourself that you  _ like _ being passed around like a toy, filled up, and discarded after you’re just  _ dripping _ with semen.” John was moaning continuously now, his hand falling away so Sherlock stroked his cock alone. “Maybe I’ll keep using you John, would you like that? I’ll make you my little bitch.  It won’t just be today. Just think of it John. Late at night, I’ll come into your room whenever I’m bored, pull down your pants, and just  _ use you _ .” The idea had its appeal, and Sherlock found himself riding John easily, as if were born to do so.

John seemed to be getting off on the verbal humiliation as much as he was from Sherlock’s cock spearing him repeatedly. The smaller man had braced himself as much as he could, his hips rocking backward anxiously as he begged for more in any way he could. “Please! Sherlock please! Come in me! Fill me!” Sherlock was getting close, and John begged again, “I want you to Sherlock. Come in me,  _ please _ , come in me. I need to feel it. Fuck me harder Sherlock, I want you to!”

_ This was so much better than having John fuck him _ . Sherlock was rather enjoying this experience. His testicles were pleasantly full, and letting his transport react on its own was having delectable results. John seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly, so overall, he considered this a winning round. Sherlock could feel his peak nearing, and already it was better than any orgasm he’d ever brought himself to. “Here it comes John. It’s yours.”  _ Illogical comment _ . Sherlock’s thoughts were hazy with dopamine and other pleasure related chemicals. His hand felt slick now, and dimly he realized John was shouting his way through an orgasm of his own, and that the clenching he was feeling was John’s body reacting to the intensity of the pleasure he was feeling. Sherlock shivered all over as he rocked slower and slower until he was finally done. Struggling for breath, and sweaty everywhere, Sherlock still managed a few words. “Beautiful, John, that was splendid.”

John was still moaning, a soft smile stretching his mouth, his eyes shut. After several minutes John finally spoke, his voice still rough and deep. “That was the most intense sexual experience I’ve ever had. You’re a natural at fucking. I’m almost glad my life  _ is _ in danger, just because I got to feel how you lose control during sex.”

“You  _ asked _ me to!” Sherlock felt indignant.  _ He’d never done  _ it _ before, how was he to know how to go about it? He’d let his transport take the wheel, as it were. Should he have tried for some restraint?  _ Anxiety made an appearance.

“Yes I did, and you came through with bells on. Top grade fuck, Sherlock. Give me a minute and you can jump back in there for our next go.” John lay on his back, sweating but smiling. He seemed relaxed and content, but despite that, his cock was hardening once more. Sherlock’s twitched but even for someone just embarking on the sexual life, he didn’t have the same stamina forcibly induced in John.

That thought spurred a question. “I thought you needed to have sex to survive.” John’s body was obviously getting ready once more.  _ Did this mean it was time for Sherlock to be penetrated again? John needed it _ .

“We  _ are _ having sex. What did you think we just did? I don’t need to have my cock in you for it to be proper sex. I love bottoming, though I don’t mind topping.” John paused, “What you said…you know… _ during _ …you weren’t far off the mark. When I was still enlisted, well, there were nights when things went to shit, and my mates and I would just…fuck the anxiety away.”

“What, all of you?”  _ How many men were in a regiment? _ Sherlock might have known about the logistics of military camps at one point but he must have deleted the information. All he could think about now were the pornographic movies he’d watched for a case involving a heavily repressed soldier.  _ John wasn’t like that but now Sherlock couldn’t help envisioning John in his uniform, shirt open as faceless soldiers shoved their hands down his pants before bending him over _ .

“No, not  _ everyone _ in camp, a group of us. It was all just cocks, and mouths, and arses, and nothing personal, we all agreed to it. It was  _ convenient _ , that’s all it was. Just fucking. I’d take as many cocks as I had time for, I didn’t care. I fucked them in my turn. That’s all it was, just release.”

“Like today.” Sherlock felt a bit despondent. If it weren’t for  _ the incident _ , John would never have laid a finger on him.

“Not exactly.” John leaned in and squeezed Sherlock’s torso, “Today my best friend set aside a huge part of himself just to save my life, and I’ll never take it for granted. I’m glad you’re enjoying this a bit now, and I’m truly sorry I didn’t think to let you fuck me right from the start. You know I’d never want to hurt you, I care too much for you. I’m sorry I wasn’t as in control of myself as I would have preferred to be.”

Even as he spoke, Sherlock noticed that John’s erection was beginning to weep, and that the soldier’s face was beginning to show the unkind strain brought by the chemical imbalance they were fighting. “I won’t hurt you either, well,  _ much _ anyway. You seem to have a bit of a taste for the freaky stuff.” John’s complexion did not look healthy, and Sherlock dropped to his knees in front of his friend. “I need to suck you now. Please John, let me.”

John stared down at him, eyes black with desire, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see and hear those words come from that mouth.”  _ What? _ “Suck.” John commanded, and Sherlock obeyed. He’d already deduced where John liked best to be touched, and began figuring out different ways of holding or rubbing John’s cock that would best bring him pleasure. Sherlock was careful not to forget John’s testicles, nor his perineum. It turned out that there were very few places that Sherlock could caress that didn’t make John moan happily.

John’s cock bumped against the back of Sherlock’s throat, and for a horrible second he thought he was going to be sick. Pulling off, Sherlock used his hand to massage John’s penis, and held out his other hand in a wordless request for lube. “You’re still a bit wet from before but…”

“More is good,” ended John for him. “I knew you’d be a considerate lover.” John was not only still wet, but he was very loose. Sherlock’s semen was dripping out a bit, and the sight of the mess made his half-hard cock twitch into full stiffness.  _ Odd. Was that normal? _ John was looking down at him. “You’ve got a gorgeous cock too, Sherlock.” John’s smirk was cheeky and flirtatious. “I can’t wait till it’s in me again.”

Deciding that actions were better than words, Sherlock knelt John onto the sofa, his knees spread a bit, and his back arched. John held onto the back, and Sherlock stood between his spread feet, knees pushing on the lip of the cushions. It was a good position, John’s hole was exactly the right height for Sherlock to be able to brace his own feet, and shove himself deep inside, “Good?” he gasped out as he held himself still and deep.

“Fucking perfect!” John pushed back, letting Sherlock slide another centimeter or two deeper. “You’re good at this. Go  _ hard _ , Sherlock, I fucking love it.”

The round wasn’t terribly prolonged but it was highly enjoyable. Sherlock had a much better idea about what he was doing, and John was getting more and more demanding, the serum’s intoxicated directives making the soldier hornier and hornier with every passing minute. Eventually, Sherlock was stretched over John’s back, pumping with furious swiftness. Sherlock was slamming so hard into John that he was bouncing, and both men were vocal about how good it felt. “John, I’m going to come,” reported Sherlock with a huff. “Fuck.”

“That’s it Sherlock, fill me again, fuck I’m close.” Sherlock couldn’t let go but he could feel John’s arm moving as he wanked himself awkwardly, “That’s it love, fuck, right there Sherlock, your cock is just perfect, so good, my beautiful man, my perfect boy, my lovely Sherlock, fuck!” John’s head snapped back as his mouth dropped open and his whole body went momentarily rigid. Sherlock lost track after that because his own orgasm was flowing out of him, blinding him as his eyes squeezed shut, deafening him as his ears filled with the roar of his own heart beating wildly in his chest.

They lay there for several minutes. Sherlock found that he was still fairly firm. Rocking his hips slowly he learned that it still felt nice. He’d assumed he’d be too sensitive right after an orgasm but apparently not. John sighed, and seemed content to let Sherlock move gently. Laying down once more, Sherlock rested his cheek on the back of John’s head, “I like this.”

John managed to take Sherlock’s left hand in his. “Me too.” Sherlock kept thrusting shallowly, his erection growing slowly harder. He didn’t think he could come again, not really, but the harder he got the better John was feeling, so he kept going. Eventually John began to rock back, his counterpoint making Sherlock slide deeper and with greater impact. Gradually they worked up to a faster tempo until Sherlock was once again pounding into John with all his strength while the soldier urged him to go even harder. John came well before Sherlock was able to, his small body shaking and flailing a bit as he emptied himself onto the cushion below him. “Sherlock, oh fuck was that good.”

Sherlock stopped, resting inside John until he caught his breath. His penis seemed to be in a state of continuous tumescence. His testicles still felt soft, but then, Sherlock rarely orgasmed, and twice in a single day was already a record for him. John got him to pull out so they could totter to the bathroom to drink water from the tap, and to wash off some of the sweat. It was a relief to let his body relax a bit, even for a few minutes. By the time they were done John was antsy. It only took a moment rubbing against his well-softened anus to interest Sherlock’s cock, and in only a few minutes John was being vigorously seen to by his best friend once more.

Sherlock realized  _ he _ didn’t need to orgasm every time,  _ only John did _ . It was wearing both of them out, but the next time John was up for it, Sherlock made sure to hold himself back. It was rather enjoyable to overcome the urge to rut mindlessly, yet at the same time, have John almost delirious with lust in his arms. Sherlock had no idea how incredible it would be to have John on his cock. Every orgasm he gave his friend was saving his life, and he was grateful he was there to help. They were half-way through the danger window, and he needed to pace himself for the big finish.

In between rounds they located mini-fridge disguised as a file cabinet. It held innocuous things like bottled water, fruit cups, and other portable snacks. Sherlock managed to get John to drink a bit more, and to eat some of the fruit, but the serum was affecting him heavily. All John wanted to do was have sex. There were some vegetables bagged together, and one bundle had a wide rubber band on it. Sherlock examined it for a minute and made another decision. Despite his innocence he wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with sexual practices, and this rubber band would make the last remaining hours easier on his transport.

He distracted John for a while with oral sex. It was getting a bit less awkward to do, and Sherlock made sure to practice the moves that made John groan the loudest. Simply making him come wasn’t enough. John’s brain had to be overwhelmed with positive chemicals, Sherlock’s blowjob had to be  _ spectacular _ . Sherlock focused on the task at hand. Bringing John off was the goal, but making the experience as good as possible was the only way they’d keep surviving the duration of the serums presence inside the doctor. For John’s sake, Sherlock hoped he could make him come harder than ever.

It made sense to utilize what biological knowledge he had. He’d already sucked John; it wasn’t a first-time experience any longer. He knew what John tasted like, what he felt like, and what some of his reactions were. Using his mind palace to search for clues on how to proceed, Sherlock made his first attempt to bring John as deeply as he could into his mouth, nearly gagging again, but then he learned that he could use his tongue to good effect, and that while John’s cock was sensitive, so were his bollocks, perineum, and all along the region from the knob of his hip and inward to his pubic hair. In fact, all of John’s body was receptive, but now was not the time for lingering explorations. Now Sherlock needed to focus on John’s good feelings.

Sherlock realized he was enjoying himself. It felt oddly good to make John moan and sigh. Learning  _ and _ mastering this technique was satisfying as well. When the doctor’s begging became urgent, Sherlock paused to fit the rubber band carefully, holding his testicles to the side, and gingerly trying not to snag any pubic hairs. It felt very strange to be constricted, but after nearly ten minutes of thrusting hard and fast into John’s willing body, Sherlock realized that his need to come was significantly impaired, and that he was finally able to just focus on John. With relief he did exactly that. When he finally figured out how to stimulate John’s prostate, he did so with alacrity, not abusing it, but teasing John gently along until his friend had tears coming from his eyes, the ecstasy he was experiencing causing him to weep from the intensity. He was generous with the lube. Chaffing was the worst enemy right now, and John would be sore enough without being hurt when it was so avoidable.

The last hour was almost the worst. John was so very hot, his skin dry and heated. Sherlock was even more liberal with the lube, and by now, laying over John’s back wasn’t what the soldier wanted. Instead he made Sherlock sit on the sofa before straddling his lap, impaling himself on Sherlock still-elasticised cock. Riding with furious abandon, John used Sherlock to pleasure himself, and Sherlock was stunned to discover a hunger within himself. He needed to see John like this again, wild, unrestrained, wanton, needy, desperate for satisfaction that only Sherlock could provide. John’s cries were increasingly desperate, and his unwitting endearments grew more commonplace. Sherlock was called John’s  _ darling _ , his  _ sweetest heart _ , his  _ fine beauty _ , and lastly, most devastatingly, his  _ love _ . Sherlock knew it was just the endorphins, but it still made his heart leap.

At the five hour and thirty-minute mark John was pounding down on Sherlock’s cock frantically. He stroked himself as he ground downward, swirling his hips so that Sherlock’s penis worked inside him with greater effect. Even with the rubber band, it was all Sherlock could do not to spend. He dared not, not knowing if he would be capable of achieving another erection before John’s chemical cycle was finally over. It clearly wasn’t doing enough for the soldier, and Sherlock was stunned when John lifted himself off, and with almost inhuman strength, grabbed Sherlock, flipped him onto his back, squirted an unseemly amount of lube between Sherlock’s nether-cheeks, and plunged himself inward.

Sherlock shout was more of a screech.  _ It hurt so blasted much! _ John was relentless though, working his cock anxiously into Sherlock’s body. One savage buck caused John’s cockhead to slide over Sherlock’s prostate, and it made him see stars. All the pain seemed to lessen, leaving behind only the best sort of sensitivity. His pleasured gasp caught John’s barely lucid attention, and then Sherlock found out what it was like to be fucked with intent by  _ Three Continents Watson _ .

It was  _ amazing _ .

_ Fucking _ amazing.

_ John _ was  _ amazing _ .

Sherlock discovered that his feet were waving crazily in the air because John had him rolled up, thighs spread wide, and the doctor hammering inside with all his strength. Sherlock’s erection was still hard, leaking, and beginning to ache. He felt intense pleasure at last, the burn in his behind melting away, his over-sensitive body responding more and more eagerly to John’s rough trade. Each thrust became liquid delight, melting him from the inside out, his body giving way until the only tension left was in his cock and lower belly. He was dripping now, beads of pre-come rolling off the tip of his penis, making a mess of their bellies.  “I’m gonna come in you,” panted John, “make you mine.” He kissed Sherlock’s mouth hungrily. “Own you.” He licked over Sherlock’s neck and began to chant in rhythm with his thrusts. “My perfect Sherlock, you’re mine, making you mine, you’re so mine.” He was startled to discover that the possessiveness in John’s voice made Sherlock’s entire body tremble with want, and he gave in to his desires completely.

John spread his fingers out on the back of Sherlock’s thighs, keeping him spread wide and curled up. His hips were snapping faster and faster. Sometimes John sank himself deep and rutted back and forth quickly, but mostly he drove his cock in and out, stroking the entire length of it inside Sherlock’s tender posterior. Sherlock noticed that he’d taken himself in hand, and was jerking himself in time with John’s motions. His toes were curling up, his muscles were tensing, and his breath was coming in ragged gasps. “John.” He groaned.  _ This was bloody fantastic. No wonder people loved sex. Maybe John would want to have sex all the time? Sherlock was willing to be buggered now, especially if it felt like this! _

“That’s it, love, come for me, come on me, come all around me.” John’s words were as heated as his skin, and it made Sherlock’s insides twist with confusion. “Oh…oh baby… Sherlock, oh honey, I’m gonna come again, I’m ready baby, oh for fucks sake this is incredible.” John bit his lip as his eyes squeezed shut, his brows knitting together as he began moaning loudly. There were only a few minutes until the drug was at its critical peak, they needed to last only a handful of minutes more. It seemed impossible but he had to try to hold back.

Failure had never felt so good. Sherlock realized his toes were pointing stiffly toward the ceiling, and that he was crooning out a high pitched sound that wavered each time John sank himself balls deep. His fingers were locked around his cock, jerking upward stiffly, his flesh not his own, his transport completely taken over by John. He should have felt completely embarrassed by the sounds he was making, or the position he was in, or the fact that John’s sweat was beginning to drip ignominiously onto his chin. He too was sweating heavily, it felt like every inch of skin was drenched.  _ This was so much better than when John had fucked him earlier. This was brilliant. _

Now Sherlock was grunting out vowels. John was ramming into him with such ferocity, their bodies colliding with enough impact that the small sofa was shifting a small amount. John’s back and hips were working sinuously to deliver the deep strokes he seemed to need, and when the smaller man’s face began to crinkle up in what Sherlock now recognized as his pre-orgasmic grimace, it seemed to flip a switch inside Sherlock. He came with a mighty shout. His legs jerked because he was in no way controlling his transport. He felt his admittedly  _ sore _ hole clench down hard on John’s still fast-moving cock, and the rub of flesh seemed to make his orgasm drag out. He felt the spurt of dampness inside his body as John finally came, the soldier bucking so hard he nearly extracted himself from Sherlock’s body. As it was, the soldier shouted Sherlock’s name over and over again, his back arching and twisting as he writhed above Sherlock’s torso, his hips snapping forward in a primal rhythm, now keeping himself buried as deeply as he could manage.

John collapsed and stopped moving. Sherlock, still dazed from the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced, froze where he was. John was limp and unresponsive, his cock pulling out of Sherlock’s behind with an embarrassingly wet sound as he slumped, sliding off of Sherlock to land on his knees, his upper body draping over Sherlock’s abdomen lifelessly. Horror filled Sherlock. He tried to find John’s pulse, fingers pressed against his throat, but his own heart was beating too hard for him to distinguish. Anxiously he sat up, rolling John’s unresisting head to the side so he could examine his jugular vein. For a moment there was nothing, but then, a delicate flutter made Sherlock nearly weep with relief.  _ John had just passed out. He wasn’t dead. His heart hadn’t stopped. He was alive _ .

Relief made him weak, and Sherlock’s body slumped forward. He pressed his mouth to John’s just to feel the gentle puffs of breath against his lips as John exhaled.  _ He must be exhausted.  _ Carefully Sherlock got the doctor onto the sofa properly, then curled his body close to the soldier to hold onto him. He was filled with a chaotic entanglement of feelings. Sherlock didn’t know what to do with them, or the conflicting urges he was fighting. He should clean himself up, dress, hide away all the evidence of what had happened before John woke. Instead he lay there, holding John, allowing his hand to wander lazily up and down the soldier’s somnolent body, idly cataloguing the texture of John’s body hair, and small pockets of fat amidst the muscle, the dimpling of small scars, and the rigid lines of bigger ones.

John woke a short while later. It was six hours and thirty minutes since he had been injected. There were five hours and thirty minutes remaining before the automatic locks reset. John twisted himself around and spent a few moments just looking at Sherlock’s face. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine.” Sherlock tried to prevaricate. As delightful as his orgasm had been, his bottom wasn’t feeling very good, but he was  _ reasonably _ certain that he’d heal soon enough. He just needed to endure the discomfort until then. John’s come was leaking out of him too, and that was a bit embarrassing.  _ He really should have taken the privacy offered when John was unconscious to clean himself up.  _ Sherlock tried to sit up without making too much of a mess but it wasn’t working very well. “Excuse me.”

“No, I have to check you.” John did, and it was horribly embarrassing, messy, and a bit noisy too. Sherlock didn’t know what he was suffering from more, the physical pain, or the emotional mortification. John heaved a sigh of relief, “Well, you won’t feel fantastic for a few days but there’s no tearing or anything. We’re really lucky.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say that he didn’t feel lucky, but he looked into John’s eyes before he spoke. There he read trepidation, worry, anxiety, and a large measure of barely concealed hopefulness. John’s face always said so many things at once. “I expect it’s like anything else. You have to keep working at it until you develop appropriate endurance.”

John simply gaped at him for a moment before it his mouth twisted into lop-sided smile. “What are you saying, Sherlock?” John’s tone was incredulous but the hope in his eyes spoke more clearly than his voice. “Does today change things?”

“I’d have to say  _ most definitely _ , John. If you’re agreeable of course. Once we’ve had a few days to recuperate, I think I’d like to arrange some mutual time in your bedroom…for science.” Daring greatly, Sherlock allowed his words to carry all the nuance of his true intent, that they could finally take that last step, entering the stage of their relationship that so many had assumed of them for so long.

“Oh. For  _ science _ .” John’s smile was fond now, and he looked happy.  _ He’d understood _ . “Well, you know I do enjoy supporting your research.”

“Oh, I’ll take notes, but you will be the one experimenting on me, doctor.” Sherlock pulled John in for a long and ardent kiss, “If that’s something you’re interested in.”

John kissed him back, “I do enjoy research, but just so you know, I’m very thorough. It might take more than a night.  In fact, it might take years for me to work through all the possible experiments.”

“Years?” Sherlock asked breathlessly.

“Oh yes,” John kissed him once more, “If you’re agreeable that is, it might even take the rest of my life…if that’s the sort of project you want to be a part of.”

“As long as you don’t want to share credit with other assistants.”

“Oh no, this would be an exclusive contract between the two of us, no other assistants, not ever.” It should have bothered him. _All_ _these emotions. Contentment. Satisfaction. Affection. Anticipation._ It should be annoying him. _It wasn’t._ Sherlock was filled with a strange kind of steadiness, as if his world had finally found balance, and only now could he see how much he’d been careening through life. John’s expression was making him feel fantastic inside. Every nebulous fear he’d ever had about his friendship was disappearing because despite how they’d gotten here, he felt _right_. “You know it could only ever be you, John.”

John’s expression was as multi-layered as it always was. He was properly chuffed, excited, a bit gleeful, and relieved. His face then quickly flashed through all the following emotions as his mind caught up with the facts now that he was no longer maddened by a chemical cocktail of artificial aphrodisiacs. John was realizing that they’d eventually be  _ out _ , that people would know for sure that he was shagging Sherlock, and that everyone they worked with would be giving them all kinds of opinions about their future together. Not many people liked Sherlock, so John could expect one cautionary conversation after another. Regardless, his gaze was steady, and filled with something warm and determined, “I’m glad. You won’t ever need to regret that.”

_ Good old wonderful caring understanding John _ . He always managed to say exactly what Sherlock needed to hear. “You’ve already had a nap, but I need to have a wash and perhaps have a nap of my own.” John’s affectionate looks turned into affectionate actions as he assisted Sherlock to the loo. Neither man felt wonderful about walking but it wasn’t so bad. John found various items to help him clean Sherlock up safely, and that provided him with some relief from the dull nagging ache in his bottom. John found some pain killers for both of them as well, and verbally coached Sherlock through the application of the very same products that had been used on the detective. “No penetrative sex for at least a week!” John was firm. “We might heal up before then but better to be safe.” Sherlock was surprised all over again when he was filled with another degree of satisfaction at hearing John declare his intentions to keep having sex with him, and of how his heartbeat seemed to stutter a bit when John’s gaze met his. Somehow it made things feel official in his mind, as well as his heart, and that even if they didn’t say it to anyone, that they were a couple.

After redressing Sherlock managed to sleep for a couple of hours. John dozed until there were only thirty-minutes left on the door-lock. They took turns using the loo, straightened their clothes one more time, and as the last minute expired they heard the lift activate. Four minutes after that, the doors slid open, revealing Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, and three uniformed officers, “John! Sherlock!” The DI looked concerned, his suit a bit rumpled, and his beard a faint shadow on his chin, “We found the doctor’s body on the lift hours ago. Are you alright?”

“Well, a meal wouldn’t go amiss.” Sherlock allowed himself to sound irritated, “We didn’t anticipate being locked in a mad scientist’s underground lair.” He carefully did not look at John. He didn’t want to give them away, so he controlled everything about himself to avoid his sudden urge to stand closer than ever to the smaller man, or to even reach out and touch John in some small way. Lestrade didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, or not anything more than was usually amiss whenever the pair of them got into a bit of a situation. “No one was shot, the doctor’s files are all right over there. As long as we don’t shut anything down there doesn’t seem to be any reason we can’t copy off all his notes. It’s very clear that his actions were deliberate. He intended to kill people, and to make those who now knew about the serum very nervous about indulging in their instinctive need to copulate regularly.”

“I bet that bit stumped you,” sniped Donovan. Sherlock tolerated her snide comments because he understood Sally. She was stuck in a job that had no future unless someone above her either advanced or were somehow removed from their position. She was intelligent, capable, and far more observant than Sherlock ever told her she was. He respected how much harder she needed to work to simply maintain her status in her department while the likes of  _ Anderson  _ managed to keep their job despite the fact that he was close to being incompetent. Sherlock had no clue what she found appealing about him, but their poorly hidden affair had been going on for several years. She took her frustrations out wherever she could since she was unable to move forward in both her career and her personal life. Sherlock had decided ages ago that he really didn’t care how hurtful she tried to be to him. He was a big boy and he could take a few harsh words, and it allowed her small opportunities to blow off some steam.

John didn’t have quite the same view. “Back off Sally. That madman tried to kill me! I’m lucky to be here right now, that psycho injected me!”

Everyone stopped moving and stared at John. “What?” Lestrade looked intensely worried. “We have to get you to the hospital. How much time do you have before you begin to react?”

Sherlock sighed impatiently. “John has already passed the danger zone hours ago. You’re far too late. Apart from needing a good meal and perhaps some proper rest, we’re fine.”

“How did you do it?” Donovan looked skeptical. “Everyone else died because of what that man put in those shots. How did you survive?”

“Like Sherlock said, all the doctor’s notes were available. Sherlock managed to come up with a solution that helped me, not that we’ll ever need it again. Each injection was unique and he’s not alive to make any more. The components were designed to break down and disappear eight hours after being introduced into a host. All the victims died well before that but because of Sherlock, I made it.” Sherlock kept a straight face and it was the best bit of acting that he’d ever done.  _ John never lied. Everyone knew that. John had just told a bald faced whopper right to the faces of Scotland Yard and he hadn’t stumbled even once. If Sherlock hadn’t been with him during, he might actually have believed that John was telling the truth _ .

“Why does Sherlock have all those bruises on his neck?” Anderson was staring at Sherlock’s throat and it took an even more supreme level of self-control to prevent his face from turning crimson.  _ Love bites. He’d vaguely thought of it whilst cleaning up, but hadn’t paused to consider that some of them were well above his collar-line _ .

“Um…I had to be restrained for some of it.” John managed to looked ashamed of himself. “I tried to throttle him.”

“Lucky you,” muttered Donovan. She didn’t seem to believe him but she also didn’t seem to care about digging deeper into it. “Wish I’d been there to see that.”

Sherlock suddenly had a vivid memory of John’s body on his, how the weight and heat of him had pressed him down, and caused him to feel so many things. He couldn’t help himself, his gaze cut to the side and he glanced at John. The soldier was standing at ease, looking calm and collected.

Anderson was looking back and forth between them, a suspicious expression growing on his face. “Now wait. You’re telling me that those are bruises from Watson trying to throttle you?” He glared at Sherlock. “See here Holmes, I know you don’t think a lot of my skills but even I can tell that those are hickeys. You two had it off with each other! That’s how Watson survived. You had sex! Lots of it.”

John lost his temporary mastery over his face. “Now just hold on a moment,” he tried to protest but from the vindicated glee currently being openly expressed by the thin man, it was far too late. Lestrade and Donovan were gaping at both of them, disbelief painted openly on their face.

“See that look! I know that look!” Sherlock mentally snarled.  _ Of course the adulterer would be the one to pick up on the signs of a hidden affair. _ Sherlock was also irritated because their relationship was all too new, too untried.  _ They should have used some of their available time to come up with plausible, pre-agreed upon responses! _ He regretted his lack of foresight, especially when Anderson said, “I bet that’s why you took this case. There’s no way Watson would have had sex with you otherwise, I mean, he hadn’t so far and it’s been  _ years _ .”

Sherlock felt ill.  _ Anderson wasn’t wrong, technically speaking. John had every opportunity to pursue a more intimate relationship since he moved back to 221 B Baker Street after the business with the M’s had been concluded. Morstan, Moriarty, and Magnusson. Even that diabolical trio hadn’t made him feel this sick about his undeniable connection to John Watson. John hadn’t made a single move _ . 

“Just because we don’t make a public display of our private time doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.” John was right in front of Anderson, and even though he had to look up, the grim fury on his face was enough to make the tall forensic specialist take a deep breath and a step back. “Unlike  _ you _ , I value and respect my partner, I don’t need to trot our business out for your approval.” John spared half a glare for Donovan, but only half because she looked a bit impressed and a little envious. Her affair with Anderson was well known to all, even Anderson’s much beleaguered wife, but the strain had yet to end their odd marriage, nor had Donovan managed to find reason enough to simply move on. Instead she existed in a kind of limbo with a job that could only take her so far, and a relationship that was less that satisfactory.

Sherlock experienced an unfamiliar melange of emotions right then. John had taken away all the negative feelings that had brewed so quickly, and replaced them with a strange collective of impulses and impressions that made him feel grounded, secure, and able to deal with even the harshest slurs, should any occur. “John, it’s alright. We don’t need to explain ourselves. The elevator camera will show the late-doctor’s attempts to kill you via the injection. It’s not your fault he died, he dosed himself once he realized that he’d been found out.”  _ It would have been better to apprehend him alive but however it happened, the case had been solved before further victims were created _ . Sherlock wasn’t too upset though. The deceased had tried to kill John, and as far as Sherlock was concerned, that was unforgivable.

Lestrade managed to pull himself together. “Right. Um. Well then.” He sputtered for a moment, apparently finding it difficult to look at either John or Sherlock. “So, you’ll be needing the hospital then?”

“Why?” demanded Sherlock instantly. “John didn’t die. He feels fine now in fact. We know that the serum will already have broken down…”

He was cut off by John himself. “Yes, I’ll need bloodwork, and so will Sherlock. He’ll have been exposed to…things.”

“ _ Things _ ,” sneered Anderson, and even Sally rolled her eyes at the blatant jealousy he was revealing. “You have no idea, do you? This might be call for full medical quarantine for Doctor Watson.”

Sally stepped in, ignoring her colleague’s vague threat. “Get in the elevator Watson, I’ll escort you and Holmes to get checked out.” They allowed her to shepherd them into the elevator, followed by Lestrade. “At least we got the elevator passcode, we’ll send a tech team in to secure all this stuff.”

Hours later they were back at the flat. Mrs. Hudson fussed over them, making them tea and a mountain of dainty sandwiches. Even Sherlock ate several. It had been a long time since their last solid meal. After they were stuffed as tight as she could get them, Mrs. Hudson gave them a talking to about scaring her at this time of her life, and hugged them both tight before sending them off with a cautionary lecture about keeping portable snacks in their coat pockets. With small smiles both men tolerated her chiding, accepting that her way of caring for them included all these facets, and all three felt better for it.

It was surprisingly easy to add a sexual component to their lives. Whenever Sherlock was verging on the edge of boredom, all he needed to do was seek out his  _ very _ accommodating lover. If John was working at the clinic, he spoiled his needy detective with salacious pictures of himself, all snapped in between appointments during John’s few private moments. Sherlock was very appreciative.

John was extremely tolerant of Sherlock’s growing need for intimacy. More than once he’d indulged in the threat he’d made to John. Climbing the stairs late at night to John’s room simply to indulge his sexual cravings whenever he wanted was a perk that Sherlock could not get enough of. John had a generous appetite of his own, and offering himself up to the detective was one of John’s most favorite things. Sherlock always asked, and John never turned him down. They most often used John’s bedroom only because it was as far from Mrs. Hudson as they could get, but the vast majority of their clothes lived in Sherlock’s room. As wonderful as it was to be together, both of them still had tempers, and occasionally nights alone were necessary.

With the soldier, Sherlock experimented with sex. John was fearless as well as shameless, and was up for whatever kind of kink that Sherlock wanted to explore. His army reputation was clearly the tip of the iceberg when it came to the  _ sheer sexual audacity _ possessed by the small sandy-haired man. Top or bottom didn’t matter to John, and he enjoyed several forays into various alternative lifestyles, barely batting an eye when Sherlock would present him with the offering of the day, be it an evening at a BDSM club, or even the curious trip they took to a Littles meeting. Sherlock rather enjoyed being coddled so intently, but in the end they decided neither venue was really  _ them _ . Sherlock checked the attempts off of a mental list he’d drawn up.  _ Perhaps during the holidays John would be interested in some furry-play. Reindeer costumes would be easy to find soon enough _ . With a smile, Sherlock went to find John again, excited to try something new with his best friend. With John, life was always interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> I've chosen to moderate comments only due to the fact that I've received comments before that reveal some pretty private moments experienced by some. While I'm glad people reach out to share their stories, I can't tag my comments to prevent more sensitive readers from seeing them, and that becomes a problem really quickly. That being said, I'd like to hear how this story felt to you.
> 
> d


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